


Reciprocal

by Beromei (Taromei)



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, invisible pining, liberal overuse of the word lad, not REALLY unrequited... just confusing... it's achilles., semi-unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27555319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taromei/pseuds/Beromei
Summary: It is not that Achilles does not love him—he does so, dearly. It is not even that Achilles does not love him in the right way, whatever that may mean. There are many ways to love another, and for Zagreus, Achilles could count them. Still, it is altogether different to what Achilles once had.
Relationships: Achilles/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), implied megzag, implied patrochilles, implied zag/other people
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	Reciprocal

The lad maintains himself well. His form is just fine, toned and well-muscled and fit, and all the more pleasant to see when it's Achilles' own hands he's writhing in. Gods, but he never stops moving. Squirming and panting under Achilles' gentle touch.

The first time they'd done this, Zagreus had been unbelievably tense. Nervous, Achilles thinks, and the thought stabs him with a good deal of guilt. Well-earned, even today. Back then he'd stroked Zagreus' torso, his ribs, the hollow of his throat; murmured soft in his ear, "Relax, Zagreus. There's a good lad." And Zagreus had shuddered violently and gone limp in his arms. The thrill was heady, rich and warm as the nectar Zagreus kept plying him with.

He was a quick learner, in all and so in this. After four goes around he stopped reaching for Achilles' underclothes after he'd come. Now he only kisses Achilles when he's drunk on pleasure and touch, mouth slack and eyes hazy, and even Achilles' awkward, perfunctory attempts at reciprocation seem to leave him gasping. Though he often seemed discomfited ( _ Sir, would you please let me— Not today, lad. I'm fine, I promise you— _ ) only once had he showed any sort of unhappiness, though he was frequently uncertain. Freshly spent and curled against Achilles' chest, he mumbled, "You won't let me touch you."

"I can't, lad. It's for the best." And Zagreus had curled tighter, like he'd wanted closer to Achilles but wanted also to withdraw, and Achilles had lain with him until for once his breathing had evened out and Achilles crept away to let him rest.

There was insecurity, too, where Achilles had not known it in him prior. A hesitance when Zagreus tried to reach out, those first few times, and watched Achilles withdraw.

_ Sir, if you'd rather not we don't have to do this at— _

_ No, no. It's not that. Here. Come here. _

Zagreus never asked. He never asked,  _ Why? _ though he would have been well within his rights to do so.

One day Achilles will answer. For now, it is not his place to speak.

* * *

It is not that Achilles does not love him—he does so, dearly. It is not even that Achilles does not love him in the right  _ way _ , whatever that may mean. There are many ways to love another, and for Zagreus Achilles could count them. Still, it is altogether different to what Achilles once had. Irreplicable and irreplaceable, that portion of his heart appeared to have been pierced and bled out in the battlefields away from him like an old familiar shade. The husk remains, out of some respect, and simply cannot be full again, a fact which Achilles had long since accepted.

It is not fair to Zagreus. But Zagreus is resilient. Has others to love him, as he ought to be loved. And has Achilles' hands, when he wants them.

* * *

There is a portrait on the far wall of Zagreus' chambers. He had blushed a brilliant. lively red when Achilles first averted his eyes (ah, the days were early and modesty still required) and landed on his own face.

"Oh," Zagreus stammered. "Oh, I can—I can explain, you see—"

"I'm honored, lad," Achilles interrupted, gentle as he could. Watched Zagreus tuck a lock of hair into his laurels in a most endearing sort of embarrassment and then square his shoulders and declare, "Well, it adds something to the decor, doesn't it?"

"It's for you to decide," said Achilles, after a moment, and softened at the force of Zagreus' steely admiration.

It had given him pause, at first, to know how much the lad respected him. Afraid to misuse the trust Zagreus had placed in him. But now the portrait is just another piece of furniture. Second to Zagreus himself in art, when he's laid out like this on his sheets. He's so deliciously open-hearted and his face hides nothing. A bit of cheek to him, the way it should be, but not a cynical bone in his body. He melts at the first touch; watches half-lidded and soft the way Achilles touches him.

Zagreus used to protest the passivity. It went against his nature and he would thusly struggle. He's a good-hearted boy. Hated to receive the attention and give nothing back. Even now Achilles can't be sure he's satisfied to simply lie back and be touched. But it's the best he could do for Achilles—to trust him, allow him this. The pleasure of bringing him pleasure. Achilles only touches his skin with a careful reverence. It thrums with light and glows with life and it's the most of either he's seen since he washed up on the eerie Stygian shores. The boy doesn't belong down here. He's too good for his company.

And then, with affection. Gods, but Zagreus has so much love to give. He loves everyone he meets. It's enough to make a man whole—almost.

Achilles shifts and Zagreus shifts with him, settling into the new dip of the sheets. Watches almost plaintively as Achilles strokes his hip, traces his Adonis belt down to his cock. Zagreus shudders when he's touched. His head drops back and lolls while his legs twitch and shake. He doesn't like to be still. Achilles cups his hip bone in one hand, holds him down, uses the other to work him over in slow, even strokes. Zagreus trembles the whole time, aborted noises dancing from his bobbing throat.

He's so often in pain, the sounds are almost indistinguishable from his pleasure. Achilles touches him until the tension bleeds from his muscles. Slowly shifting his other hand up over his chest, smoothing him down where he tries to arch. Tweaks him once and makes him yelp, to keep him on his toes. Once a trainer always so. Though this is an odd and altogether more pleasurable form of training, if he could justify it as such.

Zagreus had asked, once or twice, that Achilles be rougher with him. "You prefer that," Achilles said.

Zagreus had shrugged. "Just," he said, eyes glinting with a nervous sort of anticipation. "It's good. If you wanted to, I meant."

He has others, Achilles knows; it's an odd and liberating sort of notion in the House and its surrounds that affection be freely shared. Zagreus has others, who may love him their way or in his own. Achilles has heard him groan on the crack of a whip, in passing, a sound that was not altogether as unpleasant as he perhaps ought to have been. But...

"You've enough to fight against, lad. I'd rather provide you a respite if it's all the same to you."

Zagreus had shuddered then too. "Okay," he said, about as quiet as Achilles had ever heard him, and they'd left it there.

"Achilles," Zagreus pleads now, voice pitching, and Achilles returns to himself with a start. So lost in the soft, unfocused face under him was he, to have forgotten Zagreus himself was still left to his mercy. "Sir, please."

"It's alright," Achilles says by way of apology. "It's alright, lad." Speeds up just a little, runs a thumb over Zagreus' chest to make his breath hitch. "Come on, then."

Still pressed against his bed, Zagreus whines. Tries to arch into his touch, so Achilles thumbs at his nipple a little more, twists his hand just so Zagreus cries out. He's getting a little teary, though they've barely done anything. He gets that way occasionally if Achilles is too gentle; goes pliant and vague in his hold until Achilles bends to meet him, and so he does—Zagreus' hands fist in his hair at once, kisses him with a little moan that makes Achilles light-headed. Zagreus is too far gone to give the kiss any finesse; it's unrefined and a little sloppy, and his hips jerk pitifully partway through, Achilles feels it on his stomach, and Zagreus sobs slightly into his mouth. It's good. It's the best thing Achilles could possibly do, these days he spends in the House.

Zagreus slumps again and Achilles slides an arm under him. He likes to feel held, Achilles has learned. It's not unfamiliar. Achilles gathers Zagreus to him until his chest stops heaving, strokes his hair and thumbs the half-tears from the corners of his mismatched eyes.

"Alright?" he asks, and Zagreus' next exhale becomes a huffed out, exhausted little laugh. His laurels burn faintly brighter, warm like dying embers when Achilles leans to kiss his crown.

**Author's Note:**

> I STILL haven't finished the game don't look at me. Not proofread! This is my B-sides pseud which I have now! Hope you had fun!!!


End file.
